


Don't Wait: The Disappearance

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Mystery, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-29
Updated: 2006-08-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Several months into the Horcrux hunt, Ron disappears in a mysterious amalgamation of magic. Where is he, and how can Hermione help him to return? Contains intense sexuality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

 It had been two months, one week and three days since Ron had last kissed her. If she thought about it, she could probably come up with the hours, minutes and seconds as well. It wouldn’t be too hard, since she thought of little else in the precious little “free time” she allotted herself of late.

 

 It was her own stupid fault that they hadn’t done more. She wanted to wait. Or at least that’s what she’d told Ron. She didn’t think they should be distracted from their mission, from Harry. She hoped he understood how much she wanted him. But after two months, one week and three days of thinking about the one sweet, comforting kiss before the funeral, and the one intense, all-consuming, passionate snog on the train that still haunted her dreams, perhaps her sensible plan to wait a bit longer, after five long years of waiting for Ron, had been a bad idea. Now, all she could think of was him. That kiss on the train would have turned into something much more serious very quickly if Ginny hadn’t interrupted them when she did. Prim, proper Hermione Granger would have been complete happy to have Ronald Weasley ravish her on the floor of the Hogwarts Express. Or on the bench, or against the window…

 

 Shaking her head to clear it of the vivid images of the two of them entwined, Hermione turned to the task at hand, trying to sort through the contents of the shelves in the back of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley to see if there were any useful additions to add to the Trio’s arsenal. The Hufflepuff cup was in the private collection of a very reclusive wizard in Brighton, thanks to the efforts of Mundungus Fletcher, and they had to retrieve it, somehow. Still, her eyes kept drifting across the same room to the broad expanse of shoulders and the longish copper hair that she ached to run her fingers through.

 

The shop was closed just for them, and Fred and George had given them carte blanche to take whatever they needed. The three of them had flooed that afternoon, and Ron and she had disappeared in the backroom, leaving Harry alone in the shuttered front room with Ginny, who had snuck out of the Burrow to see him once Hermione had managed to get word to her of their plans. There were no sounds of arguing, as there had been a few minutes ago. The twins had sworn, under pain of the bat bogey hex, to keep to their flat over the store. Maybe Harry and Ginny were happily snogging. That would be wonderful, although Ron would probably not like to be witness to it.

 

Hermione wondered why she was so determined to get Harry and Ginny back together romantically, when she denied herself and Ron the same thing. Perhaps she was scared. Scared to feel too much, in case she lost him completely. Scared to want him so passionately.

 

There was a tremendous crash from the front room, and Ron looked up, his faster reflexes allowing him to sprint out of the door and into the front room before Hermione could move a step. By the time she dashed out, the curses were flying, two Death Eaters were already down, and Harry, Ginny and Ron were throwing hexes faster than a snitch could fly.

 

She crouched behind the counter and did her best. They held out for ten harrowing minutes, the twins running down from their flat and activating a dizzying array of booby-traps, until the shouts of Aurors could be heard. The battered group of henchmen who attacked must have realized that they were soon to be outnumbered. Most of them fled, Apparating away to face the wrath of Voldemort, but one determined masked spectre pointed his wand directly at her, screaming “ _Vienata!_ ” with what looked like deadly intent.

 

At the same instant, she brought up her wand with a strong shield charm; so strong that it knocked over a shelf of Patented Daydream charms. And Ron, sweet, noble Ron, threw himself in front of her, trying to block anything from hitting her.

 

The shield charm, the boxes of Daydream charms, and the strange Death Eater’s spell converged on Ronald Bilius Weasley. And, in slow motion before her eyes, he shrank. Time slowed to a crawl, and as though he had been the victim of a shrinking charm, he grew smaller and smaller, until he disappeared without a sound. Time sped up with a viscous wrench as she screamed, and Harry managed to hit Ron’s assailant with a stunning spell that would have brought down a fully-grown troll.

 

The Death Eaters had all Disapparated or lay unconscious. Aurors appeared, after the real battle was done of course, and started asking too many questions. The shop was in shambles, but hadn’t been completely destroyed. No one was terribly injured. But Ron was gone, leaving only a pile of clothes and his wand on the cold stone floor. Hermione sunk to her knees and wept.

 

“He can’t be gone….he can’t be. I haven’t told him yet.”

 

 

80808080808080808080808

 

 

He was dreaming. He was unconscious and in St. Mungo’s and he must be dreaming. That would explain why he was standing stark naked in an unfamiliar bedroom. It was hot, and the window was cracked open, letting in some air and silver moonlight that lit the room with a soft glow. The room was cozy and inviting, and in the center was a large, long four poster bed that he could have fit in comfortably. But he wasn’t about to get into the bed. Well, he wanted to. But he didn’t want to risk waking up the current occupant and have her find him naked.

 

Hermione Granger, the star of most of his dreams, lay on the bed, sweetly asleep and looking good enough to eat. She was wearing an oversized Cannons shirt that looked suspiciously like it might have belonged to him, and as far as he could tell, little else. She tossed in her sleep, a frown marring her lovely features, her brown frizzy curls laid out on the pillows in a great wave. The shirt rode up with her movements as she turned on to her side, and it revealed the luscious curve of her bum. 

 

Oh Merlin, she was gorgeous. She looked older than usual; confident, sexy even in her sleep. Like she had grown into her body completely and it was completely hers. Her legs were long and lean. He could imagine them wrapped around him. He was uncomfortably aware of his nudity, and how his body’s reaction to her state of dress could not be hidden. She was going to kill him when she woke up.

 

She was whispering, though her eyes were still closed. He walked a bit closer to hear her, wondering what she was dreaming about. “Ron!” She whimpered, and he thought his heart had stopped beating. “Yes! Oh….God…..more…” She writhed on the bed, and the shirt rose up to bunch around her waist as she flipped on to her back. He was gifted with a vision of the light brown curls dusting the junction of her thighs. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

 

It wasn’t a dream. It was heaven. He had died, and this was his version of heaven. An eternity with a Hermione who lusted after him and moaned his name in her sleep. He opened his eyes. Or maybe it was hell, and all he could do was watch. Maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to touch her, and he’d have to suffer a permanent, painful erection. He crept to the side of the bed and reached out a shaking hand, brushing against the creamy skin of her arm. She felt like warm silk, a fine layer of perspiration from the hot weather and her steamy dream making her skin slightly slick. He was so hard he thought he would explode. 

 

Two months of knowing that she fancied him, knowing that she thought of him like he thought of her, had tortured him with endless possibilities. He had indulged in so many wanks while thinking of her that he should be sore by now. But he only wanted more, and here was every dream he’d had of her, laid out like a feast before him.

 

He bent over her, unable to resist, and pressed a light kiss to lips that he remembered in great detail. Before he could pull away he felt a hand behind his neck, and those sensuous lips open under his, beckoning his tongue to come and play. It was very wrong to take advantage while she was dreaming of him, but since this was probably his dream to begin with, he thought he might as well give in and follow his instincts.

 

He ravaged her mouth and she ravaged back, with lips and tongue and teeth, nibbling and sucking and biting until he thought he would come from kissing alone. His whole body ended up on the bed, covering her smaller frame with his large one. By the time he opened his eyes while taking a break for much needed air, her eyes had opened and she was gazing at him with every bit of the lust he himself felt.

 

“Ron…more…” She wrapped her arms around him, and he got over his shock enough to return to kissing her passionately, running his hands over her bum as his lips traversed the delectable length of her neck. His cock was digging into her bare thigh, and he was so close to what lay between those thighs that he could barely breathe. She smelled so good, like some kind of flower and a little bit of cinnamon, and she was moaning his name….

 

She went to wrap her legs around him, and he jumped back, eyes wide. She laughed, a throaty, sexy sound that he could barely believe had come from the prim, proper girl he loved. She reached down and pulled off the thin shirt, revealing incredible breasts that he had long suspected lived in hiding under her uniform, or robes, or the baggy jumpers she favored on weekends.

 

Blinking rapidly, he reached out to caress the pale curves that glowed in the moonlight. She arched up, meeting his hand and filling his palm with the softest, most wonderful flesh he could imagine. He stroked it, utterly captivated, and watched as her nipple tightened in response to his gentle touch.

 

“Please…stop torturing me!” she chided, and pulled his head down. He took the hint, however surprised he was, and decided that this was absolutely the best bloody dream/afterlife that could possibly exist. He captured the hardened nipple in his mouth, kissing it, licking it, and finally giving in to his urge to suck. He was rewarded for his efforts with a steady stream of panting moans, and her body rubbing against his frantically.

 

She was so tiny under him, for all of her passionate spunk. He was almost a foot taller than she, and part of him was afraid that he would somehow break her. That is, until she managed to push against him so hard that she managed to flip them over completely. She hovered above him, hands flat on his chest, and she bent forward, kissing him soundly.

 

“No more teasing!” She gripped his erection and he yelped. Before he could figure out how to use his voice to speak, she was sliding down on to him, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. He had to revise his opinion….this, this was officially heaven. 

 

She let out the sexiest little moan, and she surrounded him completely, hot and wet and tight, and then….she started to move. He thought he would explode…. _and he wasn’t supposed to…Bill…and Charlie…they said you had to hold on….to wait for the girl……oh Merlin, what is she doing with her hips_? 

 

She was sitting up on top of him, practically dancing, her warm brown eyes hazy with passion as she circled her hips and moved up and down on his length. He was going to come…. _think of chess….Godric, she was sexy when they played and she nibbled her lips…..no, something else…Quidditch…she’d looked so good in that Cannons shirt…wonder how she’d look in the showers….no_ ….he grunted, trying to hold on to some shred of control, gripping her hips to keep her from moving.

 

She laughed…that low sexy laugh that had driven him crazy earlier. And then she started bouncing faster and faster, and he couldn’t hold on, he could feel the pressure building. Her breasts were amazing, jiggling in front of his eyes. And he watched as she reached between them and touched herself. His eyes widened and he exploded, yelling her name.


	2. Regrets

It had been twenty seven minutes since Ron had disappeared 

It had been twenty seven minutes since Ron had disappeared. Hermione had always been able to keep track of time perfectly, at least, if she wasn’t distracted by thoughts of certain tall, blue-eyed redheads. Her parents had thought it uncanny, and looking back, it was probably an early sign that she was a witch. Now, at seventeen, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, instead of being brilliantly insightful or running to research an answer in books, knelt on the cold stone floor, her mind almost a blank.  
  
She’d never gotten to tell him. Tell him that she dreamed of him; that she had imagined their children; that she’d almost hexed Lavender into being a boy; that too many times while studying in the common room, she had had to force herself to remember to turn the page she was reading so that he wouldn’t know that she had been obsessively watching him nibble at a sugar quill with his beautiful lips. She’d never told him that she loved him.  
  
It ran around in her mind in a vicious circle, filling the ocean of emptiness that threatened to drown her heart. She was a strong woman, she could handle more than most, but this was beyond bearing. Ron was gone. She could feel it. Harry had started ranting about Ron being taken by the Death Eaters, or some such thing, and Ginny had flung herself at the stunned Death Eater who’d thrown the strange curse, as though she could wring out the answer from his limp form with her bare hands. The Aurors had stopped her. Someone had tried to pull her up, to get her to leave; telling her that the Accidental Magic Department was coming to have a look, to see if anything could be done, but she’d given them a glare so filled with ice that they’d let her be.  
  
But Hermione couldn’t stay still for much longer. It was against her very nature. She began picking up the lurid pink boxes scattered on the floor around her.   
  
**_Patented Daydream Charm, Thirty Minutes of Undetectable Fantasy. Too Real to Be Believed. Pirate King Model._**  
  
She shook her head. The twins were absolutely brilliant. They probably would be richer than Malfoy within ten years, if they managed to survive. She stacked the boxes in a neat pile. Most were sealed. “The Pirate King”. “The Desert Sheik”. “The Knight in Shining Armor”. Gods….Ron had been the black knight for the chess match in first year. He would always be her knight.  
  
Her mind recoiled, and she went back to the mindless task of stacking. When she finally reached the boxes nearest the pile of clothes, the pile she could not bring herself to look at yet, she saw these boxes were open, the charms activated. Four boxes; all of which must have hit Ron. She turned one box over, to see which model it was. “Romantic Night at Home.”  
  
She wondered briefly if she could open another like it, and escape for half an hour. What would she see? A romantic candlelit dinner for her and Ron? Or Ron, gloriously naked and sweaty, above her and around her and inside her, doing all those things she couldn’t get out of her mind since she had gotten up the nerve last summer to read the copy of _The Joy of Sex_ her parents had had on one of their bookshelves.  
  
She picked up the other three open boxes, and they were all the same model. She wondered what Ron would have dreamed about. Snogging Fleur? Shagging Lavender? She sucked in air through her teeth, incensed at the thought. But, a voice, a little, self-assured, confident voice piped up, and its message was simple. He would dream of her. Plain, bushy-haired, Know-It-All, Hermione Granger.  
  
Her memory dragged her back to the Burrow, to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. There was dancing at the reception, and Ron had asked her to dance, running all the words together so fast that she had would have laughed if she hadn’t been so nervous. And they had swayed together, staring into each other’s eyes. And then he had pulled her along, down a path through the fairy-lit garden, across to the far side of the pond and a stand of tall trees. And, for the second time, he had kissed her.  
  
She swore she could still feel her lips tingle. Lavender might have been a slag, but she had definitely taught Ron how to kiss. She felt as though he was eating her alive, and she wanted nothing more than for him to consume her, and to consume him in return. Their hands had been everywhere; he nibbled on her neck, breathing her name as though it was a prayer. She had dared to lick his collarbone, wanting to taste the musky heat of him, and he had gifted her with a moan that had gone through her like lightning.  
  
She had wanted him so desperately. His arousal had pressed against her hip as he crushed her to him. She had imagined what it would feel like if the layers of clothing separating them disappeared, and she could have wrapped her legs around him and he would enter her, filling her, driving into her while she pressed against the tree behind her. She was almost consumed with a heady mixture of desire and curiosity. She wanted to know the feel of his body against hers, and how this mysterious thing called sex really felt. How would that hard lump trapped between them look? How would it feel inside her?  
  
For Hermione, the desire to know everything was only surpassed by the desire for Ron, for him and him alone. The combination of curiosity and the sure knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him was so strong it had frightened her. She had felt like she was losing herself. She couldn’t concentrate. She…they…both of them would be useless to Harry. They’d just lose themselves in each other, leaving Harry alone when he needed them the most. Killing Voldemort was more important than her love life, wasn’t it?   
  
So, she had torn herself away from him, and stamped down her reaction to the hurt look on his face and the blatant lust in his eyes.   
  
“We have to wait Ron.” She had stated, breathless after what seemed like hours of intense snogging.  
  
“Wait? Well, of course we….I mean, I didn’t think that we were going to…” His eyes bugged out, and his ears turned that endearing shade of scarlet. “Do you want to? Did you think that we were going to…”  
  
“Yes…I mean, no Ron, I mean…” she had bitten her lip, swallowing the tears that had threatened to break through. “We have to help Harry, Ron. I…I don’t think I can think clearly if we…if we are involved.”  
  
“You don’t want me?” The pain in his eyes was heartbreaking for her, and she was quick to try and ease it.  
  
“I want you, Ron.” Her mouth had been dry, and her stomach flip-flopped in terror at what she was risking by revealing so much of her feelings. She had been so very close to admitting she loved him. “I think I want you too much. I….When it’s over….When Harry’s won….then….”  
  
He had taken a deep breath, and stood a bit straighter. He had looked so mature, so much more a man than the boy she knew. He nodded slowly. “Then, I’ll be yours.” She had smiled, and it had taken all of her willpower not to throw her arms around him and snog him senseless.  
  
She regretted her control. Ignoring the attraction hadn’t helped. She thought about him all the time, and she found him staring at her often enough to be quite flattered. Her dreams, when she could sleep, were filled with longing. And now it was too late. He was gone, and so was her chance at happiness, zapped into nothingness by some strange hex, the Daydream Charms, and her own shield charm.  
  
Her tears were halted suddenly, as her brain seemed to kick back into gear. Maybe her shield had helped him? It hadn’t shattered; rather it had been absorbed somehow, incorporated into the amalgamation of magic that had hit him. She glanced toward the downed Death Eater at the front of the store.  
  
Six Aurors surrounded him, and he was bound hand and foot. He was awake, and yelling, sputtering out something she couldn’t hear but looked to be full of anger. Maybe they could get him to confess what the curse had been, or maybe they would get a clue where to start researching. She looked down again at the open box in her hands…what had these Daydream charms done?  
  
She spotted Fred and George looking more dejected than at any point in her memory. Their shop was a mess, and their baby brother had disappeared, and Mrs. Weasley was on her way, most likely with murder on her mind. Hermione walked up to where they sat, perched together on one of the intact counters.  
  
“What exactly have you got in these, boys?” She asked, in her best, no-nonsense voice.  
  
They looked at her with a mixture of suspicion and sadness. Fred squinted at her, “And why, Miss Perfect Prefect, would you care about that…”  
  
“…at a time like this?” George finished, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
She huffed in agitation. “I want to know exactly what all the magicks were that Ron was exposed to. We may not know what that…” she pointed at the incensed Death Eater, who was throwing deadly looks in her direction with violent eyes, “…did to him, but I want to know what the effect of four of these Daydream Charms would be, and the magic that makes them work so well!”  
  
“Ah ha! So, you did use that Pirate King sample that we sent you!” Announced Fred, his smile reappearing despite the seriousness of the situation. Hermione stammered a bit, a light blush staining her cheeks.  
  
“Care to give us a testimonial? Tell us, did ickle Ronnikins make a good pirate? Or were you the one doing the rescuing?” George asked, with a devilish gleam that faded once he glanced at the pile of Ron’s clothes still on the floor. George exhaled suddenly, and returned to serious business. “They have a bit of a Cheering Charm, and some _Imagino_ enhancement charms to make everything more vivid.”  
  
Fred added to this, “There’s a bit of a _Subliminato_ charm with a whispered suggestion as to setting…”  
  
“Like Muggle hypnosis then….” Hermione muttered, brow furrowed in concentration.  
  
George and Fred shrugged, unfamiliar with the Muggle term. Hermione was insistent for more information, “Go on! There must be more.”  
  
“Not much, just the Time Charms.”  
  
“Time Charms? That’s bloody dangerous, playing with Time Charms!”  
  
George feigned shock unconvincingly, “Do my ears deceive me, or has Hermione Grange, rule-enforcer extraordinaire, just actually let a swear word pass her prim lips?”  
  
“I think it’s true. Why, Ronald must have rubbed off on her after all these years! Perhaps her lips are not quite so prim?” Fred dug his elbows into George’s ribs.  
  
“Enough! What were the time charms? And what would be the effect of four at one time?”  
  
“They limit the effect of the other charms. Half an hour per box. What happened to Lee when he tried two at once?” Fred turned to George with the question.  
  
George looked thoughtful, “He went unconscious on us, and wouldn’t wake up with _Ennervate_. But then he started making some very interesting noises so we let him be. He woke up after an hour with a mess in his pants and a very pleased expression.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t help blushing. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look Lee in the face again, but does that mean that one box results in a dazed expression and inattentiveness for thirty minutes, and two results in unconsciousness for sixty?” She didn’t wait for their nodding agreement, but began to pace, an expression of intense concentration on her face. “What would be the effect of four boxes? Would it be additive? Would you fall in a coma for two hours?”  
  
Fred and George just gave another shrug. “We never tried it.”  
  
“Do you know how irresponsible you two are, selling these potent things without proper testing?” Hermione was geared up to go into a full rant, taking out her rage and frustration on the two mischievous brothers, when they were saved by a timely interruption.  
  
“Hermione?” Tonks asked quietly. “We might need some information from you in regard to our prisoner.” She indicated the bound Death Eater with a shake of her pink curls.  
  
Hermione was eager to help. “Anything. What can I do? Will he say what hex he threw at Ron? _Vienata_ isn’t something I’ve ever read up on.”  
  
“Hermione, if you haven’t heard of it, then I doubt anyone of us has. He won’t say a word about it.” She nibbled her lower lip, as though debating whether to say more. “He claims he’s only here working with the Death Eaters out of a sense of vengeance.”  
  
“Vengeance? Against the shop?” Hermione glanced at the twins, who began to sputter in protest.  
  
“No, against you and Ron. Apparently, they had no idea that you and Ron and Harry would be here, and the rest of the group was merely assign to destroy the shop, due to Gred and Forge’s blatant disrespect for You-Know-Who. But Pickvern, that’s his name, once he saw that you lot were here, he wanted to make sure you suffered, even when the others fled. He claims you destroyed his life’s work.”  
  
Hermione gaped, open mouthed, at a loss for words. “I have no idea…”  
  
Tonks continued, “He was an Unspeakable, in the Department of Mysteries. He worked in the Time division.”  
  
“The bell jar!” She shivered at the memory of the Death Eater trapped in the time loop, how his head had aged and then grown younger. “That’s it! _Vienata_ , it’s a time hex. Probably some kind of aging charm.” She stared at the pile of clothes that had been Ron. Had he been regressed to a zygote? Or aged into a cricket, like the old Greek myth? Or had something completely different happened, as a result of everything mixing together?  
  
Part of her longed to dash off to a library to find the answer, but this was not likely something that had ever happened before. It seemed that the only thing to do was to wait. And Hermione was not patient. Fortunately, neither was Ron.


End file.
